


Lies and a Truce

by hebravelyranaway



Series: Attack of the Unfinished Plot-Bunnies [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Good Omens Fusion, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Angst, Broken Families, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dysfunctional Family, Fallen Angels, Fusion, Gen, Snark, antichrists, canon divergence- season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-08-22 03:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8270174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hebravelyranaway/pseuds/hebravelyranaway
Summary: Chapter 1: After the almost-apocalypse, Lucifer and Adam come to a tentative truce.  Unfortunately, promises don't always mean as much as they should when it comes to the Father of Lies. 
Chapter 2: Dean can't decide whether or not to shoot his new guest, and that is before he admits to being the Antichrist.
A/N: Old fic originally posted on LiveJournal. Canon divergence for season 5 of Supernatural.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Good Omens belongs to Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman and Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke. I'm not making any profit from this story. The description of Lucifer's 'home' in Hell was influenced by Dante's Inferno, which I also do not own, obviously. The book that Adam describes is the first book in the Harry Potter series. 
> 
> A/N: This is more of a fusion than a crossover, as the cage exists but it only binds the Devil in a limited sense. There are other areas in which the fusion of worlds would have become more apparent if this story had become more than a two-shot, such as in the way I planned to resolve the differences between the Fallen-angel type demons in Good Omens and the human demons in Supernatural.

Everyone has at least one thing they have difficulty doing, no matter how powerful they are.  The only possible exception to this is God, although He still occasionally has trouble pretending to be nothing more than a drunken aspiring writer with some serious hygiene issues.

Lucifer has had some trouble raising his son, if ignoring him for eleven years and then getting upset that he wouldn’t end the world just because he said so could be counted as merely  _trouble,_ that is.  Most sane people, including his son, are more inclined to classify it as a catastrophic parental failure.    

He was slightly shaken by Adam's reaction to him, to be honest, which is why Lucifer is currently searching his mind for a conversation starter he can use with a son who is only refraining from banishing him to Hell right now because he reluctantly promised not to kill or even mildly annoy any humans while he was up here.  Lucifer isn’t used to being told off or disobeyed so easily, and his son is good at doing both.  Contrary to everyone’s expectations including his own, though, instead of enraging him as it did in the beginning, his son’s defiance fascinates him.  He’s proud of him, and he’s not even sure why. 

Adam reminds Lucifer of himself when he was younger, he supposes, with his excess of energy and mile-wide stubborn streak, but that’s not all it is.  For some reason, his son also became more interesting to him after he showed himself to be a worthy opponent.  This shouldn’t be the case, but it is.  Adam has ruined thousands of years of careful planning by refusing to give into his true nature, and that should make him less interesting, not more.  He has outlived his usefulness as a weapon, after all. 

That doesn’t change the fact that Lucifer is currently looking around Adam’s room, trying to get to know his son by taking in everything from the killer-robot posters on his walls, to the books and comics cluttering his shelves and littered over the disaster zone that is his bedroom floor.  He runs one long finger over the creased spine of a well-worn book.

“Is this one your favorite?”

Adam shifts uncomfortably, not because he doesn’t know what to say, but because even antichrists occasionally fall prey to common mortal traps like awkward conversations.  Engaging in small-talk with the Devil, even if the Devil is his father, definitely qualifies. 

“I s’pose it is right now.”

“Ah.  What’s it about?”

“Wizards.  A battle between good and evil.  A boy discovers he has powers when he’s eleven, and has to decide whether he’s going to use them to hurt people or help them,” Adam says, his voice suddenly a little cold. 

“…Oh.”

There is an awkward pause, and Lucifer looks away from his son’s accusing gaze after a moment.  He’s fairly sure that if his hastily summoned clothes had pockets, he’d have put his hands in them right about now. 

He balls his hands into fists instead and whirls around to face his son, the vague impression of massive wings unfurling in the shadows behind him.  He can intimidate the very worst humans and fallen angels into submission.  How could he be having trouble dealing with one child?

“It’s ‘cause you’re not _tryin’_ to intimidate me,” Adam answers his thoughts matter-of-factly.  “You don’t know how to get anything done without scaring people, do you?”

Lucifer blinks, embarrassed that he's become careless enough in his anger to project his thoughts unintentionally, and strengthens his mental shields. 

“I’ve never had to.  At least not in a long time,” he says, giving his son a more honest answer than he is normally capable of mostly out of surprise.  Not many people dare call him incompetent or anything like it, and…he supposes that proves his son’s point, really.  “Demons really don’t respond well to anything other than threats,” he explains a tad defensively.

“Huh.  Well, I _don’t_ respond well to threats.  At all.” 

“I know.”

“If you’re gonna come up here to visit me, you can’t ask me to end the world.  If you do, I’ll send you back, and we won’t ever see each other again.  I already have a dad, and I don’t need you.  I’m not ever gonna want to kill all my friends, and that’s not gonna change.” 

Lucifer can only stare at his defiant son for a moment, an equal amount enraged and…desperate.  For what, he doesn’t know.  Something cold and scaled and ancient awakens within him, and he feels again the ice that is his true home, feels his six wings beating interminably in the arctic burn of the place in Hell reserved for traitors to family and country (1), feels the weight of every seal that keeps his warped true form and his full powers confined to a cage. 

He wrenches his conscious mind from the grips of the punishment that always owns a part of him, barely holding back a shudder of horror.  On an impulse that he doesn't want to scrutinize too closely, he decides to agree to his son's demands.     
  
He can still get revenge on his Father if he agrees to his son’s terms; he simply won’t ask Adam to help him destroy the humans.  His back-up plan involving the Winchesters has already been set in motion, and this way he can spend a few years getting to know his son before Adam figures out that his plans for the world aren’t as finished as he’s about to imply.  Lucifer is pretty sure that Adam will realize what's happening pretty quickly after he escapes his prison, especially since he'll have to ritually bind Adam's powers to prevent him from interfering again.    
  
It might be nice to have family that he doesn't have to fight again, though, at least for a little while.

“I won’t ask you to hurt them,” he promises his son with complete sincerity.  The best lies are mostly the truth, after all. 

***

1)  This description of Lucifer’s portion of Hell is taken from Dante’s _Inferno_.  It isn't a direct quote, of course, but the idea that the portion of Hell reserved for traitors is cold instead of hot, and that Satan resides there, is definitely all Dante's. 

 

 


	2. The Second Apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean can't decide whether or not to shoot his guest. 
> 
> Or: Dean meets the real antichrist, as in, Lucifer's son, not some poor kid that just happens to have a demon and a human for parents. Snark happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the second and last chapter of this particular unfinished plot-bunny, kids. This is old fic, as evidenced by the fact that I wrote it only a little after season 5 of Supernatural (!!!), so it is one of the stories in this series that is most likely never going to be further developed. I hope people enjoy it, nonetheless!
> 
> Disclaimer: Good Omens belongs to Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman and Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke.  No copyright infringement is intended and I'm not making any profit from this story. 

 

There is a noise that sounds like stumbling outside their hotel room door, and Dean tenses, turning the volume down but not all the way off on the television and reaching for his weapon. Sam shouldn't have made it back yet from meeting Bobby's contact,  an expert on lore about fallen angels that he decided to visit while Dean was at the bar hitting up the locals for information on their latest case. 

Opening the door in one swift movement, he aims the Colt at whatever made that noise but there’s no one outside. He looks cautiously around, until he hears a groan come from somewhere near his feet.

_Always check below eyelevel, jackass!_ he chastises himself and looks down, blaming his lack of common sense on the slight buzz. He usually has a rule about not drinking much on hunts, but he had to keep buying his source of information beer, and it would have looked weird if he hadn’t been drinking as well. 

The blond man who face-planted himself outside his hotel room door looks like he got in a bar fight with a gorilla, if the bruises on his face and his labored breathing are any indication. 

“Shit, man, what happened to you?” he asks, because angels and demons, at least, don’t need to pretend they are injured to be capable of kicking his ass. 

“Inside,” the man says in a desperate rasp. “Let me inside!” Dean notes, with some surprise, that he has a British accent. 

He hesitates before doing as the man asks, even while his instincts are screaming at him to help. He _has_ learned _some_ caution over the years, but as long as his mystery visitor isn’t a demon or an angel, he can probably take him while he's in this state even if he isn’t human. 

“Christo,” he says just in case, and the man laughs. 

“Close, but no cigar,” he says a little hysterically. Dean narrows his eyes at him.  _What the hell is that supposed to mean?_  “Can’t you be paranoid later, mate? I don’t care if you throw me in a bloody _cage_ once we’re inside, but demons are after me, and I’m in no shape to fight ‘em again!” 

_Again? He must be one damn good hunter or…not human._  

Dean sighs and puts his hands under the man’s arms, dragging him over the salt line. Yeah, he’ll have to fix that, and soon from the sounds of it. He will also have to call Sam to warn him about the demon attack, but that will have to wait until he has his guest secured. 

_I have a war to plan, my guest to hogtie_ (1), he thinks sarcastically, and then, _Okay, this is the last time I watch the Princess Bride after a night of drinking, no matter how bad-ass the Man in Black is._  

As soon as he has the man tied up in the hotel room’s only chair and fixes the salt-line, he calls Sam to tell him the bad news. 

“Man, get over here now. A guy just showed up at our doorstep and he thinks demons are after him.” 

“And fallen angels. Did I forget to mention that part? Those Enochian wards I sensed in your room’ll hold, right?” 

“Dammit, man, _now_ you tell me-- Yeah, I’m still here. This ass just told me fallen angels are after him, too. Yeah, hurry. Bye.” He turns an irate gaze on his prisoner. “Just how soon can we expect them, and what the hell _are_ you if you can sense angel-proofing?” 

“Expect ‘em in a few minutes. I had to jump around a lot to lose them, but I don’t think they’ll _stay_ lost,” he says ruefully, ignoring the second half of the question. Dean notices it, and narrows his eyes. 

“When you say ‘jumped around’, is that like ‘angel-express’ jumping around?” 

The man snorts. 

“That’s one way of putting it,” he says, and snaps his fingers. Just like that, the ropes binding him to the chair loosen and fall to the floor. Dean swears colorfully and brings his gun up again, having never let his guard down enough to let the Colt leave his hands. “More like _Antichrist_ -express in this case, if we’re being technical. If you try shooting that thing at me, it’ll just squirt water,” he says casually, giving Dean a half-grin through bloodied lips. “Little trick I learned from my godfather.” 

The man--Antichrist, _whatever_ \--starts to get unsteadily up from his chair, moving as if every step pains him.  Dean doesn't understand why he doesn't just use his powers to get rid of the injuries, as he thought that antichrists could generally bend reality any way they wanted to.  That question can wait, though.  He has a more important one on his mind right now. 

“What the hell did you do to the Colt’s bullets? ‘Cause we kinda might need them if there are angels and demons after our asses.” 

The man rolls his eyes. 

“They’ll still _be_ bullets if you shoot at anything except for me,” he says in a slightly annoyed tone that tells Dean he thinks this should have been obvious.  _Well, maybe it’s obvious if you’re used to having phenomenal, cosmic powers,_ Dean thinks, and then takes a moment to curse the fact that kids’ movies have been the only thing on television lately _._ Sam never needs to know that he just quoted Aladdin, even if it was only in his head.“I’m gonna go check your angel-proofing, and maybe add some more,” the Antichrist says, tracing his fingers over the first angel-banishing sigil and _hmming_ in satisfaction.  

Dean watches the Antichrist in bemusement as he limps around the room to check all their wards, then cuts his hand with a knife that he materializes out of thin air so he can start adding his own. 

“If you’re an Antichrist, how come you’re having problems with these douches? I mean, the last one we met turned Cas into a GI Joe before he could get within smiting distance.” 

"My father bound most of my powers. D’you think Hell would create a nuke if they didn’t know a way to keep it from destroying them?” 

Dean thinks about this for a moment, then shrugs.  
“If someone in Hell decided to grow some common sense for a change, then no, I guess they wouldn’t.” 

“Well, dad has common sense about most things. It’s the big things, like wanting to bring Hell to Earth and wiping out the human race that he’s a little irrational about,” the Antichrist says sarcastically. Dean snorts. “Anyway, now I have powers about equal to one of the younger archangels. Still not shabby, but not what I’m used to. I’m more regular bomb than nuclear weapon, now.” 

“That’s…so comforting, man.” 

The Antichrist ignores his sarcasm good-naturedly, and puts a few finishing touches on his last sigil. 

“Alright, that better be enough,” he says suddenly, freezing and cocking his head like a dog who’s just heard a sound no human ear could detect. “It’s a good thing your brother just pulled into the driveway, because I can feel them closing in on us, and fast.” 

Dean hardly needs to hear the warning twice from his new angel-dar, and rushes to open the door.  Sam barely makes it inside before something that looks like a fast-moving storm cloud, but is much, much worse, becomes visible over the horizon.

 ***

 (1) The actual quote is, “I have a war to plan, my wife to kill,” but Dean will make do with what he has. Beaten-to-a-pulp dude is not and never will be his wife, no matter how pretty he is for a guy.


End file.
